The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. And I have wanted to so very much. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. org Title: Ann Veronica Author: H. ” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places.
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